Why King Claudius Is Full of Spite
by FallOutBoyFiend
Summary: In Hamlet, one of Shakespeare's great Tragedies, the audience never knows why Claudius hated his brother so much in the first place. This is my take on what happened.


It was a royal birthday, just past the time when twins Claudius and Hamlet received their presents. Hamlet, who proudly wielded a new sword, jumped from the throne and swung to the floor with the violet velvet curtains that hung on either side of the hall-like room, while Claudius stood in a battle stance waiting for him. He also brandished a new blade, though his was much less intricate. Hamlet's hilt was delicately engraved with a scene of dragons and kings, whilst rubies and amethysts danced along the silver handle. Claudius had a simple sword with no engravings but his name, though there were a few sapphires and emeralds placed around the edges.

CLASH! Claudius's sword hit the smooth, white, marble floor as Hamlet disarmed him. Claudius stared down at its plain décor, face lacking the pure enjoyment that shone on his twin's. "What's the matter, Claudie? Aren't you going to play some more?" Hamlet's smile transformed into a look of concern.

"No… I'm not feeling well," Claudius picked up his sword and walked solemnly back through the dark stone corridors to his chambers. In the pit of his stomach, a feeling was eating away at him, one that he knew that should not be ignored.

That evening's dinner was awkwardly quiet. The twins' father, King Hamlet I, sat with his head bowed down, face contorted in a way which suggested that he had a plethora of indecisive thoughts roaring like rapid waters through his head. On the other end of the long hall-table, the twins' mother, Queen Calvine, sat with a stony face, staring down her husband as if she hoped that lasers would start shooting out of her eyes. Hamlet and Claudius sat across the table from each other and looked uncomfortably from parent to parent. Meanwhile, Claudius felt the same feeling of dread dig its painful claws back into his stomach. He dropped his fork, letting it clatter onto the silver plate, onto the wooden table, and down to the marble floor with a racket that echoed through the whole dining hall. He then proceeded to stare down at his tunic, sick of the feeling that he got when he looked back and forth at his parents' hardened expressions.

"Claudius! Pick that up! There shall be no throwing of the silverware at this table!" his mother screeched, perhaps a little harsher than she intended, for instantly her face softened for a millisecond before it returned to glaring at Hamlet, Sr. Claudius complied, lingering a bit too long on the floor as he gathered not only the fallen fork but his scattered dignity and confidence. When he reemerged from beneath the table, nothing had changed except the amount of food on Hamlet's plate. They sat in silence for the rest of the meal and awhile after in the after-dinner sitting room, and just when Claudius thought that either he had gone deaf or everyone had lost all sense of communication and movement, his father spoke.

"It is… your tenth birthday today," there was a gaping pause of words, in which Claudius imagined that the entire castle could fall without scraping against the walls on any side, but finally Hamlet, Sr. continued to speak. "You both know that today is the day that you will learn who will follow in my footsteps… and become king of the glorious state of Denmark. It was a difficult thing to think about, as you were both born on the same day, and therefore are mere minutes apart. Accordingly, one of you is only slightly the eldest son and rightful successor to the throne. It took some time for me to determine whether I should follow the ancient rituals of our ancestors, but I have reached a conclusion with the help of the greatest gods… and your mother," King Hamlet gazed lovingly at his queen before continuing with this imperative speech. "Ten years I have spent thinking on this subject, weighing the pros and cons, and studying the ancient traditions, and after ten years, I have decided that yes, I wish to continue on with what my ancestors began so many decades previous to this. Therefore my successor will be…" Hamlet and Claudius both sat at the edges of their seats. This was the moment that they had been waiting for their entire lives. The way they sat on their seats was unpredictable for a moment, when they both were unsure of whether their lifetime ambitions would take flight and soar to new horizons or splat on the cold floor and seep into the dreaded dungeons below the castle, to sit and wallow for unjust eternities to come, "… Hamlet." The king turned to his 'eldest' son and grasped his small hand in his own colossal grip.

For the next two hours, the king and queen congratulated and advised Hamlet, letting him in on all the opportunities that his brother could not enjoy in his future while Claudius sat in his small chair, staring down at the floor, toward the dungeons, where his hopes and dreams lie in an eternal heap. He listened as his parents told Hamlet of Gertrude, his queen-to-be, and how wonderful it would be if he, too, would have a son called Hamlet, because oh, wasn't that just the most perfect name for a King! After the horrible evening was over, Claudius had a hatred in him that could not be sated or matched by any other hatred a ten-year-old boy could have. He resolved to loathe Hamlet until the day that he passed, and when Hamlet did die, it would be of no natural cause, but by the venom of Claudius's wrath.


End file.
